Artemis Fowl: The Allegory
by the quintessence of wyrd
Summary: Three years have passed since The Lost Colony. A heartbroken Artemis immerses himself in a side project, leading him to find closure in the unexpected, albeit with tragic results. AFxOC, rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I don't own Artemis Fowl or FOB lyrics but I do pwn them at being mediocre.

**Summary:** Three years have passed since _The Lost Colony._ A heartbroken Artemis immerses himself in a side project, leading him to find closure in the unexpected, albeit with tragic results.

_---_

_The story of Orion's death has many versions. Some state he offended Artemis, who killed him. Others say that he became her favorite hunting companion, but offended Apollo, who loosed a giant scorpion to chase Orion into the sea. Apollo then tricked Artemis into shooting Orion. When she discovered what she had done, she gave way to her grief and immortalized her companion and the scorpion by placing them in the heavens as constellations._

Artemis was sitting primly on his bed, attempting to do away with his heartache via meditation. It wasn't working, of course; the guest bedroom shared a wall with his, permitting any noise to transcend the room it was in. The noise in question was some pop rock blaring on a stereo, undoubtedly Juliet's, who had come to visit and had been given the room adjacent to his._ "We're the therapists pumping through your speakers, delivering just what you need,"_ the singer warbled. _"We're well read and poised, we're the best boys..."_

Despite his grief and loss, Artemis could not help but feel a twinge of uppityness. There were few in this world who would be as well read and poised as _he_ was. It wasn't boasting, it was merely fact. Surely genii wouldn't make music their profession? He shut his eyes. The song was somewhat...exhilarating, to say the least. The exact opposite of what he was required to feel in order to have some inner peace of mind.

_"...We're the chemists who've found the formula_

_To make your heart swell and burst..."_

Such utter nonsense. If anyone were to find such a formula, it would be Artemis himself. He suspected he had found it already. One of the variables included a beautiful girl named Minerva Paradizo.

Artemis inadvertently let out a despondent sigh. She was amazing. He reminisced about their time together, a blur of coffee shops and intellectual conversation. He flushed at the thought of their few but nonetheless wonderful kisses (they had been raised too properly for excessive intimacy), inhaling her flowery scent, the softness of her hair. They played chess; he had never had such a worthy opponent before. They were a formidable pair. Or rather, had been. For if Minerva were indeed a variable in a figurative formula to make your heart swell and burst, she would also be a key factor in a formula to breaking your heart. His heart, as a matter of fact.

He had scorned such expressions at first. _How can one tear a heart and also refer to it as breaking?_ he had asked Butler when he was naught but ten. _No grammatical sense whatsoever. _

_Love breaks all rules,_ Butler had replied. And so it would seem. Artemis put a hand to his breast. Something inside there hurt. His feelings of devastation somehow held base in his chest. Breaking, tearing-they all described his status quo perfectly, grammatical sense or no. Not that being disproven made him feel any better-in fact, it only made him feel worse.

He pummeled his pillow with his fists. He was frustrated. What had he done wrong? Where was a genius to go from here? How had he let himself become so vulnerable? A mastermind should be able to erase this pain. He could hack into every computer program in the world, he could memorize anything you could throw at him in a short space of time-and yet he could not stanch the wound in his heart that was hurting him so terribly.

What had Minerva said? He couldn't bear to think about it and yet his mind slid to the clipped words that came from her mouth and pierced his very soul..._I won't give you any cliches. My heartstrings for you have fluctuated. I have now drawn the conclusion that independence was the main component in my success as a young virtuoso, and I wish to maintain such triumphs. This would be beneficial for both of us, I think. And so henceforth our romantic relationship has been disbanded in favor of a platonic bond..._

She had gone on and on, almost robotically. Artemis had simply stared and stared and stared, at a loss for words. They were sitting outside one of their favorite coffee shops and they hadn't even ordered yet. He had wondered vaguely, above his numb and shock, whether she had practiced this speech in a mirror several times. Had she first began with deciding what tactic to use? _Politically correct or tactless? Most definitely the former, it's Artemis Fowl I'__m dealing with..._ Evidently she had not decided on her tone. Or perhaps she thought she had gotten the sincere pitch of her voice down pat. Artemis had pondered whether to verbalize an acrimonious remark on this, but decided to stay mute on the subject. How she presented breakup did not matter; whether she actually did it mattered. And she had done it. And now she was waiting for his reaction.

"I..." Artemis had begun, but changed his mind. "The feelings you have so clearly expressed to me just now are mutual," he said, though every word he spoke caused him pain and was a lie. His mind was still reeling from what she was doing, what she _had _done already. He could not think, he was simply talking out of his posterior-"I do wish to maintain, if not a relationship, then most certainly a friendship."

Minerva let a smile grace her lips, relief washing over her lovely features. "That would be wonderful," she said.

_I thought _we_ were wonderful,_ he was tempted to say. _Wonderful_ together. But he did not say that. He did not want to end this acrimoniously and he could tell, from quick psychoanalysis, that she did not want it to either. They had parted with a formal handshake. He had returned home by cab, escaped the pleas of his insufferable six-year-old twin brothers, Myles and Beckett, to construct "The biggest castle ever!" with their Lego pieces, and was now in his room, straying from meditation and into woeful contemplation. He couldn't even hear the blasted music anymore.

A knock on the door. Artemis wanted to be alone.

"It's Butler," rasped a familiar voice. "I'm coming in, whether you like it or not."

The door swung open and a large Eurasian man stepped in and closed it behind him. His gait gave the impression that he had a limp and was trying to hide it. He pulled up a chair at the side of Artemis' bed and seated himself. Artemis twiddled his thumbs, feeling the power of Butler's stare directed at him. It was probably full of concern; Butler's intuition regarding Artemis was always dead on. Artemis stared at his manicured nails and wondered whether concern that he was metrosexual had befallen Minerva.

"Artemis." Butler spoke.

"I'm perfectly fine," Artemis snapped. "It's not a disease, it won't kill me. A virus, perhaps, one that needs time as a vaccine. Time, Butler, I need time."

Butler simply looked at him for a moment, bemused. "I came in here to tell you about the job you applied and interviewed for at Lodestar," he said at last. "As a tutor, I believe? You start first thing in the morning tomorrow, at seven."

"Oh." Artemis felt himself blush. "That's fine."

"May I ask what you were referring to?" inquired Butler.

Artemis sighed again. "Minerva severed ties with...that is to say, she...she broke up with me." No point in beating around the bush, although Artemis hated the phrase with a passion. _She broke up wtih me._ It sounded so juvenile.

The expression on Butler's face softened. Wordlessly he put a comforting hand on Artemis' shoulder. A lump formed in Artemis' throat. "I take it you would like to be left alone," said Butler. The man was aging, but his mind was sharp as ever.

"Yes," Artemis said, giving his old friend a small smile. "Very much so."

After patting Artemis on the back, Butler retreated from the room. Artemis watched him go, feeling a mixture of longing and loneliness return to make his stomach queasy. Evidently Juliet had tired of listening to music, for Artemis heard not a sound from the room next to his. He closed his eyes again and tried meditating and found that he couldn't, not even as the quietude threatened to suffocate him-he had always used Minerva as his focus for the past three years. Now she had become a disturbance. Artemis resorted to pummeling his pillow again. It was primitive, but a reliever of stress nevertheless.


	2. Chapter 2

They had been planning to coauthor a book on philosophy together, but it didn't quite work out as planned: Artemis was veering towards existentialism, much to Minerva's disapproval, and Minerva's reflections were borderline rationalism, much to Artemis' dismay. "Oh, never mind it for now," Minerva had said then, pushing aside their manuscript (she had insisted on transferring their thoughts to tangible paper with pencil rather than allowing Artemis to fire up a Powerbook, because, according to her, using technology would interfere with their metaphysical train of thought). "We can work on it later. Let's play chess again, I think I know how to beat your 'Bashkir Maneuver.'"

Artemis stared at the slightly crumpled manuscript now, lying innocently on his desk. If he had known then, that they would never resume _working on it later_, what would he have thought? He would have certainly never thought _this. _He would have changed his philosophical views just for her, and while she pored over their writings he would have soaked up the sight of her eyes, the shape of her mouth, the way the light from the chandelier accentuated her golden curls-

His cell phone rang. It was Minerva. Artemis drew in a sharp intake of breath and took the call. "Hello?"

"Artemis. It's Minerva." Her voice sounded fluttery. Not at all like her usual self. 

I was thinking of you right before you called, he was on the verge of saying. _Some might call that…portentous, I believe._ He was going to say it but he stopped himself. Must not sound desperate, bitter, or overjoyed. "Yes?" Artemis said instead, trying for indifferent and polite. 

"I'm at the airport," she said. "I'm returning to France."

"So soon?" Artemis was surprised. Not to mention a little hurt. Did his ex-girlfriend (how peculiar that sounded!) want to get as far away from him as possible that badly?

"Yes, I managed to pull a few strings and I would really like to see Papa again, and not just on holidays," said Minerva frankly. "You know you were the only reason I came to Ireland. I wanted to see how things panned out."

_So I was just a test subject? _thought Artemis's mind numbly. _Three years of experimentation and you finally find an anomaly? _Aloud he said, "Of course. I hope you have a safe flight. Tell Monsieur Paradizo I said hello."

"I will," answered Minerva. "And tell your family I said goodbye." She paused and continued, in a lower voice, "Thank you. For everything. For sharing a world I never dreamed I could be a part of. I'll never tell a soul." She said this last part in Gnommish. It reminded Artemis of the times when one of them would make a comment in one language and the other had to reply in another, until either he or Minerva ran out of the languages at their disposal. Usually it was Minerva who lost these multilingual exchanges; she would temporarily sulk and Artemis smiled, thinking about her pout.

"Artemis?"

Artemis realized he had been silent for quite a while. "I apologize, I've been somewhat distracted today," he said.

Minerva laughed. "Artemis, it's not even six in the morning."

"I'm an early riser, as you very well know," replied Artemis. "But…regarding what you said: I trust you, and I am glad I shared it with you." He also spoke his last sentence in Gnommish.

_"L'adieu, nous séparons comme les amis," _Minerva said softly.

Oh, no. The goodbye. Artemis swallowed his pleas. _"Adieu." _His voice cracked on the last syllable.

She hung up first. Artemis was still clutching the phone to his ear, imagining with some small desperate hope that this was all an elaborate joke. He would have stayed that way for some time had it not been for Juliet, who stuck her head inside his room. "Hey, Domovoi told me to tell you to get a move on if you want breakfast." The Irish tinge in her voice was completely gone, having spent a good part of the past few years in the western hemisphere. And Domovoi. Artemis doubted he could ever get used to the name.

"I'm coming," Artemis responded, and turned to face the ornate mirror on the wall to straighten his tie.

"A little bird told me the girl genius broke up with you," said Juliet blithely. "What was her name, Athena?"

Artemis's shoulders visibly stiffened. "Are you sure the bird was little? Because I am assuming your bird was Butler, and he certainly isn't little. Neither is his mouth, by the look of things."

"Oh, don't get angry," said Juliet. "He's just concerned. And it's not like I never had a first love. Heartbreak sucks, but you'll get over it, Arty."

"Don't tell me Butler's gone and told Holly too," muttered Artemis darkly, plainly not listening. "Then again, Foaly would be worse-"

"Foaly? Holly? Have you gotten yourself a social life when I was wrestling apes across the world?" asked Juliet.

Artemis gave a start. He had forgotten Juliet had never reclaimed her memories of the People. He had discussed it with Butler, and they had both decided it was best to leave Juliet in the dark, the philosophy "ignorance is bliss" fitting the bill in this case. "I don't like how surprised you look," stated Artemis, raising an eyebrow. "Are you implying that the last time you saw me, I was a misanthropic sadist?"

"Pretty much." But Juliet was grinning. Artemis decided to let the remark slide. He picked up his briefcase and followed Juliet to the kitchen, where the twins were eating smiley-faced pancakes.

"Arty!" Myles and Beckett chorused.

"Hello," said Artemis, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "What is this, Butler? Pancakes with humanoid expressions? I hope you have something different for me."

"Of course," said Butler, as Artemis seated himself at the table. "Just wait…ah. Done." Butler slid Artemis's plate towards him. "You get a pancake with a frowning face, for being late to one of the most important meals of the day."

"Ooh! Arty was _tardy!" _Myles said, pointing a sticky finger at his elder brother. He and his twin proceeded to collapse into a fit of giggles.

Artemis looked at the plate in dismay. "Honestly…" For one moment he seriously contemplated shooting his younger siblings with tranquilizer darts and having them put away, preferably someplace remote. They were even having an effect on Butler, who was often annoyingly chipper nowadays, despite his back pain and limp. Artemis had often longed for a happy family, but this was too much. He supposed he would always be the black sheep-too clever for his own good, not content with being content. Morosely mulling over this unhappy take on his role in the family, he unconsciously stabbed his breakfast which promptly began oozing blueberries that dissipated the frosted inverted smile. "I think I'll just have my Earl Grey tea," he said, pushing the plate away from him.

"Sure thing," Butler said, pouring it for him. Artemis sipped away, his thoughts centered around Minerva again, while the twins and Juliet chattered incessantly in the background. Was she thinking of him now, as he was of her?

_Of course not,_ a voice in the back of his mind chided. _She was the one to call it quits on the relationship, after all. _

She probably has a paramour in France, added another voice. _What with all those romanticized notions running around that country, it wouldn't be surprising if she had two, or three-_

_She was quite selfish about it, you know,_ a third voice put in. _Under all that fancy talk it's obvious she just thinks you're an obstacle in her path to acclaim and fame-_

_No, _thought Artemis sullenly. _You're all wrong. Everything was going well. I'm beginning to suspect SMSPI was a factor in her decision, perhaps a couple of vengeful deprogrammers-_

_Stop with the optimism, it's getting sickening, _interrupted the second (or was it the third?) voice. _You can scheme to get her back all you like, but in the end you'll just be one of those unrequited love types who sit around on their bum forever, waiting despite the futility of it all- _

And I thought you scorned such weak, vulnerable fools- said the first one slyly. 

_I do! _thought Artemis defensively.

-who choose to dwell on the past and live in denial. A mastermind does not mope around and wallow in self pity. You need to move on because I guarantee she already has-

"Artemis!" 

Artemis blinked. He was still in the kitchen, the cup of Earl Grey in his hands (which only had a few lingering drops, yet he was still sipping). Butler was once again peering at him with some concern. "I apologize," said Artemis, rubbing his temples. "It seems that the voices in my head are being more pessimistic and critical than usual."

"Oh," said Butler, his facial expression leaving no doubt that he feared for Artemis' insanity. "Internal conflicts this early in the morning? Are you sure you're up for Lodestar?" 

"Yes, I am sure," said Artemis. "Now," he added, "I'll be off." He picked up his briefcase and left, the twins' cries of singsong farewell ringing in his ears. They were identical in physicality as well as irritability, he thought, lip curling. He was still feeling a bit miffed towards them from the time they had accidentally pulled the plug on a computer he was using to type a physics lecture. He had neglected to save it and was forced to start from scratch again. It had been the first time he had spoken so sharply to the twins. Needless to say, they hadn't been able to maintain a genuinely mournful air; children are rarely known for their tact, after all.

Artemis got into his Aston Martin and started the ignition. Butler used to chauffeur him around, but much had changed during that three year gap. His parents had given him the car soon after he returned at the age of seventeen, although in actuality he had been fourteen. He smiled slightly. It had taken him another three years to feel the age he should have been but time, in accordance with the laws of nature, had moved forward and he was now supposedly twenty. Apparently a side effect of saving the world was the inability to keep up with the times, quite literally. Thinking about age reminded him of Minerva (everything reminded him of her, really). It was disconcerting to think while Artemis had spent three years running around a disintegrating volcano in Limbo, his former girlfriend had been busy growing up and absorbing three years' worth of new knowledge. That had tipped the balance a bit in her favor, but Artemis had quickly caught up. As for the sudden reversal in age, Artemis hadn't minded. It was good fortune on his part that he had left behind a stricken girl and returned to a mature young woman.

Artemis drummed his fingers on the dashboard as he waited for a traffic light to turn green. It would not do to be late on his very first day, although it would be of small consequence if he was. A tardy tutor was hardly someone to fuss over; if it weren't for his interest in observing the average teenage psyche on a more personal level he wouldn't have bothered taking up such a meager position.

"You want to study the mind of a teenager?" Juliet had asked. "Why not psychoanalyze yourself?"

"Correction: I wish to study the _average _teenager's mind," Artemis had corrected. "And my mind is anything but average."

"Can you say, 'arrogant'?" muttered Juliet to Butler.

"If that is what you call honest, so be it," Artemis had replied indifferently.

---

With approximately thirty two minutes to spare, Artemis arrived at a cluster of small, dismal-looking buildings. After leaving his car in the faculty parking lot and privately cringing at the school's architecture, Artemis found himself in the administrative office, where he was greeted warmly by the school secretary, a rather plump woman who gave him several papers to look over and directed him to his own office down the hall: a small, cramped room containing a desk with an obsolete computer and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. A kitten-themed calendar and some bright red tulips accentuated the otherwise drab room. Sighing, Artemis set his briefcase down, took a seat at the desk that was now his, and scanned through his schedule. Apparently he was to stay in this horrific room until lunch in hopes that students would come to him. Afterwards he was to go to Room B7.

Artemis put away his schedule and found himself staring blankly at the kitten-themed calendar. He would not think of her. He would…count the tiles on the ceiling. He would….imagine that the carpet was a flattering color. He would…

The door opened and the rather plump secretary poked her head in. "There's a faculty meeting you need to attend, Mr. Fowl. It's in Room A3."

Artemis hid his relief at having something to distract him. "Thank you…"

"Miss Badgley," she prompted. "Important notices are posted on the faculty bulletin board, near my desk. You'll need to check it every morning for updates."

"Thank you, Miss Badgley," said Artemis monotonously. "I'll go now." He got up from his seat. His feet led him past Miss Badgley's unstylish pumps, several other doors, and into a room crowded with teachers and administrators. He remembered the principal standing up to introduce Mr. Fowl, the scattered applause that followed his introduction and welcome, and the buzz of an obligatory speech on the importance of academia. He remembered making small talk with the man sitting next to him and he remembered being dismissed, allowing his feet to take him back to his dingy office. He remembered all of this but could only hear and see and feel a young woman with golden curls tickle his ears, dazzle his eyes, and smarten his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Artemis had spent his morning tapping his pencil and thinking of Minerva and was being paid handsomely for it. This thought, at least, compensated for his boredom. Evidently the student population had not been informed of his arrival. Perhaps they didn't care, or were intelligent young humans who didn't need patronizing advice from a tutor. Either way, his so-called study of the teenage psyche had so far made very little progress. Artemis sipped his Earl Gray tea and looked at his watch. In ten minutes time, his schedule would require him to attend to the hapless students in B7. Well, there was certainly no point in fruitlessly waiting here. Artemis got up and made his way out of the dreary, squat building and paused in the "courtyard". He couldn't distinguish any building from another, they were all such ghastly-looking little things. I suppose they do quite a bit of editing on the brochures, he thought grimly as he finally spotted the obscure letter 'B' marked on the structure to his left. Wondering what was the point of naming each building alphabetically when they weren't in alphabetical order, Artemis proceeded to enter through double doors and found himself in a long, narrow hallway with doors bordering both sides and a staircase leading to the upper floor. He located a little plastic 7 indicating his designated classroom nailed to a door on his far right and went right in, the door creaking noisily behind him.

An ordinary classroom. He set himself up at the teacher's desk, propping his laptop on the desk and sinking gracefully into the swivel chair that was immeasurably comfier than the one in his office, waiting for the bell to ring and signal the end of lunch. And not a moment too soon. Just as he was doing a quick check of his balance online, the shrill sound of a metal instrument made him jump in his seat. Heart pounding, he exited out and turned off his Powerbook. Having done that, he tented his fingers, placed an expression of the utmost gravity on his face, and thereby attempted to give off a professional demeanor as the students trickled in by the handful. Soon, the desks filled up and everyone was chatting loudly; gaggles of girls huddled, heads bent, and every once in a while one would look in his direction and giggle.

The bell rang again, indicating the start of class. Everyone continued talking and…female clustering.

Artemis cleared his throat, still maintaining his professional demeanor.

"Did you see Henry-"

"-and those blows he gave Mark?"

"Where?_ Where?!"_

"Behind the field! Mark was going around with his girl-"

"Leslie, that's the cutest bag I've ever seen, did you get it yesterday?"

"Yes, it's designer-"

"-look at him, isn't he _beautiful?"_

"-oh, I'm really glad Mr. Perry's gone now-"

"-a bit of a tan would make him look nicer, though-"

"-no, I think he does the vampire look very nicely!"

Realizing the last snatch of conversation had been referring to him, Artemis's professional demeanor faltered. He cleared his throat again. "Excuse me."

"Oh shush everyone, he's trying to talk!" snapped a redhead sitting in the front with a couple of her friends who had formed one of the many female clusters. They looked eagerly at him, almost sycophantically. The clamor died down and soon everyone was staring at him expectantly.

Artemis Fowl cleared his throat once again. He really should break the habit. "Hello. I am your new tutor. You may address me as Mr. Fowl." A bit strange, as Father had always been Mr. Fowl, but it would have to do. A couple of sniggers could be heard in the back.

Artemis, containing his temper, continued. "You are all in Year 12, and are expected to take exams at the end of year determining your placement at university. It is my duty to guide you through your journey of academia in hopes that you will find success in your every endeavor. Work hard and you will triumph. Procrastinate and you shall suffer the consequences. There is a theory, conceived by one Dr. Kahn Spiracci, stating that those who-"

"Aw c'mon, don't lecture," complained a burly boy sitting in the corner. "We get enough of that in our other classes. Leave us alone to study, won't you?"

"As if you do any studying," retorted the redhead. "Mr. Fowl-sir-how old are you? And are you married?"

Titters came from the back. Artemis squinted; was it possible that this room was actually a cleverly disguised movie set, and out there somewhere was a hidden laugh track audience?

"That is none of your concern," replied Artemis crisply after rendering his idea ridiculous and unfounded. "Next question."

"What's two plus two?" The classroom erupted into laughter.

Artemis was getting extremely annoyed. "Quiet!" He waited for the last chuckle to peter out and then pressed on. "Everyone may_ quietly_ work on any subject they wish. Those who have nothing to do may _quietly _read or _quietly_ sit there. Please hesitate to come up to my desk in order to ask for assistance."

"Wait, Fowl, don't you mean 'please do not hesitate'?" called out the burly boy.

"I never say what I don't mean, I do not make spoonerisms, and the former double negative was clearly intended," answered Artemis patiently. "And if I have confounded you because I lack the ability to downgrade to your vernacular I quite sarcastically apologize. And it's _Mr._ Fowl." He stalked to his desk and pulled out a pile of blank papers from his briefcase that he pretended to look at intently.

After a series of mutterings and whispers, the sound of the unzipping of book bags, the rustling of paper, and the thud of pencils and books could soon be heard as the class settled into a routine of hushed conversation, scribbling, and page-ruffling. Artemis relaxed and absentmindedly began sketching very detailed World War Two maps, his thoughts irrevocably fixated on Minerva. He longed for her with every cell that comprised his body. How long are these unwanted feelings of attraction going to overtake me? he wondered. His heart sank. He'd be the first to admit it: he had always thought himself a Renaissance man, but he was no expert when it came to love. Love was not something he could calculate or graph or even really define…but he could try. He started plotting variables and numbers next to the legend he had half-drawn, in an attempt to figure out an equation for heartbreak duration. Artemis was so engrossed in his calculations, he didn't notice the girl standing before him until she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Eh…?" Artemis blinked, as if he had been woken from a kind of stupor. He stared blearily at the girl standing in the front of his desk. She looked back at him with slightly raised eyebrows. The first thing he could clearly note about her were her large umber eyes. The next thing was the fact that she was wearing a shapeless red gingham dress that in all likelihood wasn't going to make the cover of a fashion magazine anytime soon. Artemis shook his head a little and came to his senses. He quickly became embarrassed at having seemed like a speechless idiot and hurriedly put on his professional demeanor again. "Yes?"

"I need help," the girl said brusquely, pointing to a page in her book.

"Algebra." Artemis smiled. "An elementary concept, really. In order to find the summation notation, you'll have to use a different formula…" and then he explained to her, simplifying his vocabulary as best as he could and feeling thoroughly repulsed as his lips were so used to eloquence. After several minutes of outlining the process, he looked up and found her staring at the book with slightly glazed eyes. "Did you hear an iota of what I just said?" he asked, somewhat annoyed.

She snapped out of her trance. "Oh, yes."

"Really." Artemis's left eyebrow shot up. "Please do number seven, then."

"Okay." She took up her pencil like a rapier and attacked the problem with vicious scribbles. Artemis looked at her answer and was immediately surprised. "It seems that you didn't need my assistance."

"I just wanted a point or two clarified," said the girl apologetically. "But you went on…and on…and on…"

"I get your point," said Artemis coldly.

"Sorry," she apologized again, and promptly returned to her seat, which seemed to be somewhere in the back. Artemis wondered if she had been one of the several who had sniggered at his surname or tittered at the probing of his status. No matter. In the end, who was the wealthy genius and who was the smarmy juvenile? He looked at the paper he had been doodling on, picked it up, and folded it until it was a small square that fit in his breast pocket. He could work on it later. He should be focusing on observing the teenage psyche. Artemis jotted down his hypothesis.

_Most teenagers are idiots._

A little crude, but it was a start, he noted with a grim smile.

---

**A/N:** A little too slow in progressing for my liking, but bear with me, people. After all, an author has to build up her story, not hastily and flimsily construct plots around romanticism. But that's just the BS in me talking.


End file.
